


Romeo, Romeo

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, JUST COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Skeppy POV, you fools
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29642943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Oh." His voice sounds defeated instead of the amused exasperation Skeppy is used to. He can almost imagine Bad in front of his computer, tension leaving his shoulders as he realized it was all just another 'troll.' He waits for the soft huff of the other man's laughter, the affirmation of Skeppy's successful prank. Instead, he hears a strange, choked noise that makes his stomach plummet to his feet."Bad, are you...crying?"-When a troll goes too far, Skeppy decides he has to make it up to Bad. He just happens to decide the best solution is a plane ticket to Florida.
Relationships: Skeppy/Badboyhalo, Zak Ahmed & Darryl Noveschosch, Zak Ahmed/Darryl Noveschosch
Comments: 118
Kudos: 489
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic based off the online personalities of BBH and Skeppy, not an insinuation of their IRL relationship. If any of the CC's state they are uncomfortable with the fic, I will take it down.
> 
> Tags may be updated as the fic continues.

"Oh my _god!"_ Skeppy shrieks, in the tone he estimates best matched a hysterical toddler. 

"What! _What!?_ " Bad's panicked response blasts through his headphones, as Skeppy rushes to lower the volume and figure out... _something_ that was 'going wrong.' He watches as his avatar hops frenetically across the screen, Bad's _perfectly normal_ and _un-griefed_ server that he'd just been banned Bad from. He mutes his microphone to snicker softly, grasping for an answer. 

"You gotta promise not to be mad!" Skeppy wails, forcing some vulnerability into his voice. Anything to sell the act. besides, Bad was a bleeding heart, he'd feel bad.

"How can I promise that?!"

"Just _promise_ me!"

"Fine."

"The IP-adresses!" he settles on, slapping his desk with a solid _thump_. "Oh my god-they're being leaked!"

"What?! _Skeppy_ , shut it down, oh my _goodness_ ," Skeppy lowers the volume even further. Some shuffling on Bad's end indicates he's surely trying to open another window, to contact his staff. Not that they'd answer, as per Skeppy's request. His laughter is almost too difficult to contain. 

"Oh my god, guys, he's freaking out!" He crows to the invisible audience he's recording for. Skeppy unmutes again, leaning close to the mic. "Bad, they're hacking-"

" _What?_ "

"They _banned_ me!"

"Skeppy-unban me _right now!_ " Bad snaps.

"I already told you I _can't!_ " 

"Oh my goodness...oh my goodness..." his protests trailed off into incoherent mumbles of genuine distress, and Skeppy can imagine Bad clutching his hair in frustration. He decides to call it for fear of his dear friend _actually becoming bald_.

"Wait, I can add you back!"

"Wh-huh?" Bad's familiar avatar appears next to him on the screen.

"Look, it's all...hmmm."

"I don't...see anything wrong...?" Bad's voice stutters, cloudy with confusion. Skeppy's chest hurt from his barely contained laughter. 

"They-they must have put it back," he suggests.

"They couldn't have done it so _fast_ ," Bad insists. Skeppy can't hold it back anymore, bursting into earnest laughter. Bad's protests in the background form an incoherent hum, "why are you _laughing!_ "

"It's a troll," Skeppy cackles. "Oh my god, I got you _so good!_ " This was well worth the many hours of planning and contacting Bad's admins. A satisfied smile spreads across his face, though it was tempered somewhat by the silence on the other end of the line. "...Bad?" 

"Oh." His voice sounds defeated and devoid of the amused exasperation Skeppy is used to. He can almost imagine Bad in front of his computer, tension leaving his shoulders as he realized it was all just another 'troll.' He waits for the soft huff of the other man's laughter, the affirmation of Skeppy's successful prank. Instead, he hears a strange, choked noise that makes his stomach plummet to his feet. 

"Bad, are you...crying?" He ventures shakily, not wanting to offend his friend but still nervous. His finger hovers over the 'stop recording' button, when he hears a sharp cough and a sigh that basically confirms his suspicions. 

" _No._ " Bad snaps emphatically, an undercurrent of anger and embarrassment in his voice that only made Skeppy feel worse. "I'm just...I'm gonna go."

"No-Bad-wait-," but the Teamspeak is already empty.

Skepy sits in silent confusion, staring at the now-blank computer screen, casting an eerie blue light in his dark bedroom. He suddenly becomes aware that it's been a while since he took a deep breath. He gulps in a lungful of the stale, unmoving air, trying to process what just happened. _He was just messing with Bad, right? They pranked each other all the damn time, it was like a touchstone of their relationship. Mess with each other, get the other back, repeat. Why had Bad been upset?_

A notification somewhere buzzed, as light bloomed on his phone. His head snaps towards the noise, almost robotically reaching for it. He half expects a slew of angry texts from Bad, but there's nothing. Just a notification that Quackity is streaming. He chews on the inside of his cheek, deliberating. _Should he apologize?_ _He should apologize_. He lazily pushes himself out of the swivel chair parked in front of his desk and flops onto his bed, just out of frame of his webcam. 

> hey man, i think i went too far. i'm really sorry.

He stares at the pale text on discord's dark background, gnawing his lip harder. No. That's not enough. Not if Bad is really upset. 

> let me know how i can make it up to you

There. Perhaps that will assuage his guilty conscious. He groans loudly, rolling over and grabbing his pillow. His throat is already sore from screaming on stream all day. Some more probably won't hurt. Stupid Bad. Stupid Bad and his stupid feelings making Skeppy feel guilty! How dare he. Now he's guilty, confused, _and_ frustrated. He screams into his pillow for a long time. 

Bad doesn't respond at all that night. Skeppy tosses and turns, gets up at three a.m. to soothe his throat with a cough drop, and eventually slips into an uneasy sleep around four thirty. The next morning there's a single message from Bad. 

> it's fine.

Fuck. The simple response should make him feel better, but lacking any of Bad's usual 'o_0' or 'owo' flourishes, it feels vaguely passive aggressive. There's not much to analyze in those simple two words, but Skeppy finds himself staring at them as he stumbles into the kitchen for breakfast. And again as he edits a video. And in the evening when he reaches a new personal low with week old takeout. No new messages join it, and Skeppy can't bring himself to add on to the conversation. Now that he's reached out to Bad, and gotten that response, it's almost as if he's gotten a door slammed in his face. Bad says it's fine. Bad doesn't want to talk about it. So it's fine! He's fine. It's _fine_.

Except it's not.

Another sleepless night ensues before he can muster up the energy to face Bad again. Quackity is hosting a stream with Bad and Puffy on the SMP, and the invite to join pings into Skeppy's inbox. He chews on his now long-bloodied lip, deliberating. He's exhausted, still in his sweatpants from the night before, sick with guilt and anxiety. Yeah, going on stream seems like a good decision. He toggles his facecam off, and watches as the familiar dirt-block screen of minecraft loads up and he joins the SMP discord. 

"Eyyyy! Discount Skeppy!" Quackity greets him, already in his SMP 'persona.' _Or maybe it's not a persona_ , Skeppy muses, faintly amused. _Maybe he just enjoys irritating me_. Puffy greets him as well. Bad, noticeably, remains silent. Skeppy's mouth tastes like iron. He watches their avatars bouncing around aimlessly on screen, placing blocks and smacking each other. The Skeppy and Badboyahlo on the screen aren't mad at each other. They aren't in a strained silence, refusing to be the one who breaks it first. "Brrrr," Quackity finally remarks. "Do you guys feel the chill in here or is it just me?"

"What-?" Bad breaks the silence first, sounding equally confused as Skeppy feels.

"Okay, so who's freezing who out?" Quackity sneers, and Skeppy doesn't have to look at his facecam to know he's smirking. Goddamn it. Quackity's sure to think they're just messing around, but of course _he's_ the one to air out their problems on stream.

"Nothin's wrong," Bad says, chuckling. It's forced. Two years of friendship, Skeppy knows it's forced. Quackity can probably tell it too, because a moment later his discord pings with a private message. 

> the fuck did you do?

Skeppy scowls, immediately defensive. His avatar slows to a standstill as he hastily types a response. 

> why do you assume it was me?

> bc it definitely was

Fair enough.

> i went too fair with a prank. think i rly upset him.

> did u apologize??????

> of course i did. i texted him like right away.

> dude. an apology over text isn't good enough. not if he's rly upset.

The chat has begun to notice Quackity and Skeppy's inactive avatars, complaining in spam. Quackity almost immediately snaps back into his persona, while Skeppy mumbles an excuse about his mom calling, before logging out. Once again, he's left in silence, with nothing but the cool blue of his monitor. Could Quackity be right? Is Bad angry because Skeppy didn't bother apologizing properly? He stands up, sighing as his joints complain loudly and pads down the stairs.

He's lonely, Skeppy realizes. Usually at this time, he'd be texting Bad. And the sudden absence, everything just feels _wrong._ He's made up his mind to call Bad, to fix this _somehow,_ but every time he works up the courage, Bad is streaming. He ends up spending the rest of the day, sitting, but on the _couch_ this time, so there's some variety. He listens to Bad's streams, substituting his friend's company with his voice. ' _I love you guys_ ,' Bad says, and Skeppy pretends he's talking to him.

The light outside rapidly dims leeching any warmth from Skeppy's limbs, it's already almost twelve o'clock, and shaping up to be another night of insomnia. He listlessly scrolls through his social media. Fans wondering where he was today, someone complaining about dream. Dream complaining about a heatwave in Florida. Disneyland. Trips to Disneyland. Flights to Florida. It's three a.m. and he's staring at prices for flights. 

It's three thirty when he buys one for the following day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The troll borrowed heavily from this vid.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-u1ZpGJQjp0


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for your purchase! Your flight boards in ninety minutes._

Skeppy stares uncomprehendingly at the message in his email. His head is still cloudy from the few moments of sleep he'd managed to catch between three and six a.m. Flight...? What flight? Slowly, he grasps at the threads of memory from the night before. Bad was angry at him, they were fighting, Quackity said he needed to apologize better, so he bought a...flight. And it’s in an hour and a half. 

Seized with sudden urgency, Skeppy springs to his feet and sprints up to his room, heedless of the weird looks he gets from his roomate. His hands shake with adrenaline and lack of sleep as he pulls a mothbitten suitcase from his closet, splaying it open on the floor. What does he need? Does he even know how long he's staying?! No! He does not! He bought a fucking one-way flight! Not for the first time, Skeppy curses his impulsiveness. 

Unable to get his brain and hands to cooperate, he tries to narrow down his whirling thoughts to a list. He needs...shirts, right? And a phone, a phone charger-and a toothbrush, probably, _maybe._ While he crams wrinkled, half-washed outfits into his suitcase, he taps out a request for an Uber and lines up a video post. Damn, he does _not_ have anymore lined up. Well fuck it, he decides. He'll make a travel vlog. People like those, right? 

He manages to tug a brush through his tangled hair and splash some water on his face, before sprinting down the stairs. He doesn't bother looking at himself in the mirror, knowing what he'd see; bleary red eyes, drawn cheeks, and chapped lips. A lack of sleep and nonstop emotional stress is really doing him in. And he doesn't need to be _reminded_ of it.

Skeppy drags his bags behind him, glancing around for the Uber, dizzied by the LA heat. (Not that Florida would be better.) Despite his adrenaline, he's remained very much in a half-asleep stupor. This all felt like a dream. A really... _weird_ dream. Or something straight out of a badly written romantic comedy- _nope_. He stops that thought right in its tracks. He's already long since decided that those were thoughts he would not have about, for, or in the general vicinity of Bad. It’s just healthier for everyone. 

In a desperate bid to distract himself from his thoughts, he catches sight of the Uber and dashes towards it. "Hey! Hi, hey dude!" He says breathlessly, earning a look from the driver. He sounds positively manic. "Sorry, I'm late for my flight. Like really late. Can you like, floor it? Now?" The driver's mouth opens and closes, glancing at Skeppy's hair, his half closed bag, and the wild gleam in his eyes. He floors it.

The airport comes into view, rising out of the glittering tarmac, stretching into the rosy dawn sky. He still has an hour before his flight. Skeppy gives the driver a guilty smile, and tips him generously. 

He's hit with a wave of noise and frigid air the moment he enters the airport proper. Suddenly surrounded, and in his sleep deprived state, the airport feels much bigger than it actually is, an uncaring white fluorescent monster, waiting to swallow him whole. And in that instant, everything seems a lot more _real._ This isn't a movie, or a dream. This is real life, where a full grown _adult_ impulsively bought a ticket across the country for an unplanned visit to his friend. A cold, sick feeling builds in his chest. _Where the fuck was the check-in? Where was he supposed to weigh his bag?_ And then-

 _What was he thinking? What the_ _fuck_ is _he thinking?_

Skeppy's feet shuffle aimlessly, wearing into the thin coating of aluminum. The sun continues to rise, mockingly, as the time for his flight draws closer. He can't just... _not_ use the ticket. Well, he could. But it was a damn shame to waste so much money. Will Bad even want to see him? Is that even a question? Of course he won't! Not out of nowhere like this. _Bad never even wanted to see you in the first place_ , a nasty little voice mocks. _Why else d'you think he pushed it off so long?_ Skeppy presses a hand to his cheeks to stop the heat rapidly rising in them. No matter how sleep deprived he is, he is _not_ going to have a breakdown in the middle of the airport. _Snap out of it!_ he chides himself, grinding his teeth. He looks a bit crazed, he _feels_ a bit crazed, but still forces himself to politely ask a bored looking security guard where to check in.

Pointed in the right direction, Skeppy gets his bags checked and moves to the security checkpoint. His heart hammers like a drum. Once he does this, there's no turning back. He has half a mind to call it now; this anxiety, this near-emotional breakdown type shit isn't worth it. 

But then he thinks about going back to his room. His room which is equally as cold as this airport, but infinitely lonelier. To his house and his room, where Bad will ignore him until one of them breaks the silence. And then they'll move back into their uneasy back and forth, except it will be different this time. It will be much worse, because now Skeppy will be _afraid._ And he realizes he doesn't want that. Quackity's words drift back to him. _It's not enough._ It's really not, it's never _been_ enough. 

"Sir?" He realizes the security guard has been trying to get his attention. 

"I'm sorry what?" 

"Sir, please step over the red line." Right. No going back. He nodded hesitantly, and walked forward.

All went well, aside from a moment where they pulled him aside to let him know that, no, you cannot take a gallon of blue gatorade on an airplane. Skeppy had smiled sheepishly and admitted he didn't remember packing it. He was ninety percent sure they didn't believe him, but they let him through regardless. And now he's on the damn plane.

The engines drone, lulling Skeppy's racing mind, and allowing him a bit of peace. He's uncomfortable, pressed into the cheap, scratchy fabric of the seat, his legs folded up so he doesn't kick the person in front of him. His eyes water painfully and burn when he looks out the window. He's utterly exhausted, but utterly unable to sleep. An unhelpful distraction, his phone remains silent, a warm square pressing against his leg. He chews on his sore lip, pulling out the dark box and debating wether it's worth it to pay for shitty airplane wifi. 

Another half hour into the near five hour flight is spent doing sudoku, before he decides that yes, it definitely is. He cringes as he taps out a few commands and the 15$ charge is made to his phone. Not too bad, but certainly not worth the performance. He almost drops his phone as it's instantly flooded with messages, cold panic seizing him as he scrolls through to find any from Bad. None. There are some from Vurb and Techno, but they lack the same urgency as the other fifty texts from Quackity, spamming him to ask if he remembered to apologize. As if he could forget.

> shut the fuck up man im on a plane

> WHAT

> TO WHERE

He mutes Quackity, unwilling to chat, and pulls up Netflix. He can't concentrate far past the glittery red logo though, before his eyelids are drooping. He's fallen asleep before the app even loads. 

It's a dreamless sleep, or so he assumes. Any dream he had, he certainly can't remember. He's jerked awake by the _bump_ of the plan hitting the tarmac and skidding to its stop. " _Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Florida. Thank you for flying with us,"_ the intercom croons. Skeppy glances outside, and is met with the same blistering heat he left behind. Once again swept up in the bustle of people leaving the plane, he grabs his suitcase. His arm pops awkwardly as he reaches for it, he probably slept on it funny. 

Now not only is he tired, but he's jet-lagged to hell and back. He stands on the tarmac, sweating terrifically, and calls his second Uber of the day. Day? Was it the same day? He doesn't know. He thrums with anticipation, still not having thought thought exactly what he'd say to Bad. Something nice. Definitely. And then everything will be fine. He tries not to think too far past that point. He'll apologize to Bad, and everything will be _fine_.

Without really thinking about it _too much_ , Skeppy gives the driver Bad's address, one well known by now from the amount of gifts he sent his friend. Many times, he'd looked up the address just to see where his friend lives. Not in a weird way! Just...imagining meeting him. Thinking about the spare room. It was...nice. Too soon for Skeppy's comfort the unfamiliar streets he'd been tracing in the window with his finger transition into a very familiar road. His ears are ringing too hard to hear the driver tell him they've arrived, but it doesn't matter. He knows. 

He gets out of the car stiffly, staring at the house. 

_No, wait, this is a horrible idea._

It all comes crashing down at once. Of _course_ Bad doesn't want to see him. He's totally intruding! He doesn't even have a hotel room! Just because Bad mentioned that he had a spare room doesn't mean he _expected_ Skeppy to drop in and use it! He starts to panic, whipping around to tell the driver that he's changed his mind, that he wants to go back to the airport and wait for a flight home. 

But the driver's gone. 

It's just him, standing in the road, in the boiling heat with his suitcase. Fuck, fuck, fuck, _fuck_. What now? He's stuck in the middle of Florida, and _very_ ill prepared for it. He could call another Uber, but by then someone would surely see him, right? Report him for being a stalker or something, he needs to find a way home. ...the familiar taste of iron fills his mouth. _It's not enough._ He stands there, frozen in his own indecision, cursing his impulsiveness, not noticing the figure approaching him until it's much too late to hide.

A man, walking a fluffy white dog. Tall, shoulders broader than they had any right to be. Auburn hair, swept over his forehead. Glasses perch on the bridge of his nose as two, very familiar, pale eyes peer out at the world. Bad stands there, across the street from Skeppy, just staring. Staring. The muscle near his left eye twitches slightly. And then his lips part and Skeppy holds his breath, the silence seems to stretch out infinitely. He'll say something, something sweet and stupid and Skeppy will run to hug him and everything will be okay-

" _Skeppy, what the fuck?_ "


	3. Chapter 3

“Language,” Skeppy says weakly. Bad's free hand flies over his mouth, and then drops to his side almost as fast. And then they’re back to staring. 

He can’t stop, drinking in every detail of his face, his presence. He's taller than Skeppy thought he'd be, not as tall as Skeppy himself, but _taller_. And he looks less uncomfortable, holding Rat's leash than he does on stream in front of millions of people. It’s one thing to see someone on a camera, Skeppy realizes. But it’s entirely another to see them… _really_ see them, in real life. Bad looks…solid. Solid and real, like…a regular guy. Skeppy almost laughs at himself for that thought. He _is_ a regular guy, and it’s entirely on Skeppy if he convinced himself of anything but.

Bad has not taken his eyes off Skeppy, as if he's concerned that he's going to dissolve into nothing the instant he looks away. Skeppy longs to do _something._ To somehow cross the chasm between them. But he's frozen by his own indecision. Bad's brow is furrowed, mouth set in a flat line that seems to express no emotion, negative or otherwise. Skeppy is used to hearing his voice, he knows it like the back of his hand. Bad's little vocal tics and hums and grumbles, he can tell with almost precise certainty what each one means for his friend's overall emotional state. But his face? His face is a different story. Completely inscrutable.

"What are you doing here?!" The familiar voice suddenly breaks his pensive silence, as Bad unabashedly continues. "You look-you look-" he stumbles over his words, shaking his head. Despite his clear surprise, Bad's speech is measured. Stilted, Awkward. _Unfamiliar_. 

"Horrible?" Skeppy suggests with a weak chuckle. It's forced. He can't even bring himself to answer Bad's simple question. This isn't banter, he's _completely_ out of his element. This feels forced, this _is_ forced, and it's entirely his own fault. He barely even registers when Bad speaks again.

"No, no, just..." Bad pauses, seeming to consider his words, pushing a sigh from his lips. "Tired." 

"That would be the uhm. Jet lag." Skeppy shifts uncomfortably. Bad's knuckles are white, Skeppy notices, clenched around Rat's leash and shaking. "What's wrong?" Skeppy ventures nervously.

"What are you doing here?" Bad repeats, "we didn't agree to meet, we weren't gonna-not for a while..." his voice trails off. "Skeppy, I have _plans_ this week. I'm really busy." Skeppy's heart sinks, shivering, despite the temperature outside.

"No, yeah that's fine!" He assures Bad, crossing his arms, to shield himself from his friend's unequivocal rejection. "I have a hotel n' stuff. I was just...in the area. For...business. Wanted to...stop by." He's lying through his fucking teeth and he's sure Bad can tell. 

"Oh. Well." A pause. "If that's all..." He kicks himself internally. _Why is he lying? Is it because Bad still looks pissed? Is it to avoid awkwardness? To make the rejection sting less_. "Why didn't you tell me?" Is that an undercurrent of hurt, that he senses in Bad's perfectly measured voice? Skeppy wants to simply shrivel up right there and disappear.

"Didn't want to bother you."

"Then why are you here?"

 _Ouch_.

That feels like a slap in the face. Skeppy licks his chapped lips, staring at his shoes. _Apologize!_ Quackity screams in his head. Maybe it wont totally bridge this strange, new rift between them. But it might help. 

"I'm here to apologize," Skeppy admits plainly, his voice a bit more wary than he means it to be. The sudden declaration seems to catch Bad off guard, his eyes widening slightly.

"For what?" Now it's Skeppy's turn to be confused, gaze hopelessly flicking from his feet to Bad's face.

"For the-for the other day."

"Oh, I already said it's fine." Bad says, waving a hand, brushing it away. It's several moments before he realizes Bad isn't going to speak again.

"...alright then." Skeppy says with a grimace. Well. He suddenly felt very stupid. Very stupid and overdramatic.

"Would you like to come inside?" Bad asks, motioning to his home. It's a courtesy, and the whole thing feels very disingenuous. 

"No, no, I don't want to inconvenience you." He hates this. He hates this, this unnatural, stilted conversation. It was nowhere close to how he hoped their first meeting would go. There were no hugs, or tears, or absolutions. Just the uncomfortable exchange of two people who have never interacted without a screen. This isn't...'Badboyhalo'. It's a man named Darryl. A grown man who has a job and a life, who isn't going to drop all his plans for some guy who flew across the damn country on a whim because he felt _guilty._

Bad shrugs. "Alright then."

"Yeah." Skeppy shoves his hands in his pockets, unwilling to be the one to move away even though the conversations clearly finished. 

"Well, I'll see you around?" Bad says, questioning. He wants to say he hears hope in that tone, but he's probably just seeing what he wants to see. Bad's just being polite. Leaving it up to Skeppy.

"Yeah." Bad nods and moves towards the house, before pausing and turning. Skeppy's heart soars.

"Do you...have a ride to your hotel?" _Oh._ He crumples.

"Yeah...I'll just...call someone." 

"Okay. Great."

And that's it. Bad's gone. 

The driver he gets is the same as before, he tries to make conversation, ask if Skeppy's visit went well, and why was it so short? Oh, it went fine. Everything went fine. Just turned out to have the wrong address, that's all. 

He wonders when he started lying so much. He wonders when it got so _easy_.

There's a cheap motel off the highway, their Yelp review is approximately two point five stars, and they have six open rooms. It's the sort of place Skeppy wouldn't be caught dead at; only he's really unwilling to spend anymore money than he already has, and he just needs somewhere to squat while he waits for a flight to L.A. Defeatedly, he drags his bags to the lobby of the crumbling building. It smells like sunscreen and cigarettes, a single pathetic neon sign is the only indication that the business is still operating. A bored looking woman that blends in with the beige backdrop checks him in, and he watches the numbers in his checking account drain even lower. 

If this were a movie, he and Bad would have already made up by now. They'd be laughing over how ridiculous Skeppy was, Bad would scold him for the recklessness of his plan, but appreciate the gesture nonetheless. Maybe they'd walk Rat together and Bad would introduce him to his roomates, and show him around town. But it's not a movie, Skeppy notes as he tries to fall asleep with a cheap spring digging into his back. It's not a movie, it's just kind of depressing. And anticlimactic.

He can't sleep though, in the silence. Aside from the cars occasionally whizzing by on the road, it's oppressively silent. Silent, cold, and unfamiliar. He feels a bit childish as he fumbles for the TV remote and turns on some random show. There. The distant hum of overdramatic couples and epic sword fights allows him to doze. As long as he doesn't think too hard about the parallels it might have to his own situation. 

He's beginning to drift off, when a jolt from his phone rudely awakens him. Spitting out an array of colorful curses that would make a sailor blush, Skeppy fumbles for his phone. Quackity's calling. And all the hurt and disappointment, and yes, anger, of the day coalesces into being really _, really pissed_ that Quackity woke him up. "What. Do. You. Want." He seethes into the phone. And then he has to hold the phone away from his ear when Quackity starts yelling.

"WHERE ARE YOU. WHY WERE YOU ON A PLANE. WHY HAVEN'T YOU ANSWERED ANY OF MY GODDAMN PHONE CALLS." Skeppy browses through his apps and realizes, oh yes, Quackity tried to call him multiple times. 

"Calm down. _Calm down_ , I'm in Florida. I'm fine." And that statement seems to be damning, because there's a tense silence before Quackity responds.

"And _why_ , Skeppy, are you in _Florida?_ " He doesn't want to say it. He really doesn't because the more he mulls it over, the stupider it sounds. He mumbles the answer quickly into the phone, flushing deeply with embarrassment. "Care to _fucking_ repeat that, you emotionally stunted man child?"

"I wanted to apologize to Bad in person," it all comes out in a rush, Quackity groans.

"Please tell me it's not because of what I said."

" _Ummmmm_...."

"Oh my _god_ dude, I meant like...call him! Fucking facetime him! Buy him more pizza but the kind he actually likes! Not show up at his house without warning and demand forgiveness!" 

"I didn't _demand_ anything!" Skeppy protests, but the anger's leeching out of him, replaced with now-familiar guilt. "Look, in my defense, I was very sleep deprived." More irritated noises from Quackity.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" 

"Did it go well at least?" Quackity asks. Skeppy passionately rolls his eyes, before remembering the other man definitely can't see it. 

"Do you think I'd sound this miserable if it did?'

"Ah, good point. You two would be sucking face right now."

"Not funny."

"Sorry." There's no remorse in Quackity's voice. "Hey, look on the bright side, now you get to apologize for two things, _and_ I get to hang out with Bad more!" 

"How is that a bright side?" Skeppy snarks.

"It's not." 

"Well!" Skeppy says exasperatedly. "You've been really helpful. I'm going to sleep now." He hangs up, comically cutting Quackity's voice off. He would smile, normally. But now he's just exhausted. Despite the uncomfortable accommodations, his eyes slip closed, and he doesn't try to stop them.

_Drifting, spiraling. It's not too bad here._

_Light, auburn hair._

_Light eyes and a warm hand pressed against his frigid chest._

_Give me my Romeo, and when I shall die,_

_Take him and cut him out in little stars._

It's dark.

His eyes flutter open.

It takes him a moment to register that he had indeed just been dreaming, but aside from the vague memory of warmth and the blush on his cheeks, he can't fathom what it might have been about. He's pretty sure, somehow a quote from the show he was watching got in there. Groggy, he reaches for his phone, and freezes when he sees that he has a single text message. He doesn't dare to hope, hands shaking as he checks the number.

It's from Bad.


	4. Chapter 4

> sorry i acted weird yesterday, i was just really surprised.

_ Oh _ . 

Skeppy’s eyes flick to the little blurb beneath it. 

> im sure ur rly busy but some plans got cancelled, are you able to hang out tomorrow?

He stares so hard at the message that the two shades of grey on the screen begin to blur together. 

_ Woah _ . 

Bad acknowledged it was weird. Bad asked to hang out. He barely dares to believe it, cradling the phone close to his chest as if it’s something precious.  _ Proof _ . Proof that his best friend doesn’t hate him, something Skeppy hadn’t even realized he was worried about. Yes, Bad might be mad. He had every right to be. But he doesn’t hate Skeppy

“YES!” He whoops loudly and obnoxiously, falling back onto the bed. He’s certain he’s woken someone up, if there’s anyone else in the hotel, but he can’t help it. A goofy, uncontainable smile has made it onto his face. He feels warm, he feels relieved, he feels downright  _ giddy _ . He needs to respond. But the problem now is that he’s  _ overthinking _ it. He doesn’t want to sound too eager, and make Bad uncomfortable, but he doesn’t want to be rude and hurt his friend any further.

> sure i think i can squeeze you in :P

He stares at it, and backspaces. It’s meant to be a joke but he’s not sure if Bad will take it that way. 

> sure

Is it too blunt? He debates, before adding: 

> sure! :)

Good enough. He taps his thumb on  _ send _ , and watches the blue message settle on the screen. There. Up to Bad. 

He forces himself out of bed, drifting around the hotel room getting ready for the day. It doesn’t occur to him that he doesn’t know what he’s getting ready  _ for _ .

He hums an offkey tune to himself as he scrolls aimlessly through his phone, every so often looking at the message from Bad, if only to prove to himself that it’s very much  _ real _ . And it definitely is, but Bad hasn’t seen his response yet. He doesn’t entirely trust the water in the hotel, but he takes a quick shower nonetheless. He pulls up his phone and tweets about the perils of low water pressure just so his fans know he’s not  _ dead.  _ And then he’s...done. 

He inevitably falls back onto the bed, staring up at the cracked plaster. All that’s left to do is wait. Skeppy really  _ hates _ waiting. He could try to sleep more, but with all the anxious adrenaline pumping through him, sleep is an extremely distant goal. He can’t call Bad as he usually would, and he doesn’t really want to talk to Quackity. Then there’s Vurb or Spifey, but they'd ask where he was and what he was doing and he really doesn’t want to explain the embarrassing ordeal all over again. He couldn’t  _ do _ shit without a car.

So what?

He wants to call Bad. He wants to call him  _ so bad _ . 

But he can’t.

Huffing out a sigh, Skeppy resigned himself to a day of wallowing. Wallowing and doordash. 

Of course Bad texted back the second his food arrived. Watching the buzz of the phone meet his ears in time with the sharp knock on his door should have been comical, if Skeppy wasn’t genuinely torn for a moment which to attend to first. 

He decided on the food, ripping the door open, and shoving cash into the delivery person’s hand. He mindlessly set the pizza down on the couch and reached for his phone. 

He stares at the message for a solid thirty seconds, before he’s able to make out a single word.

> want me to pick you up tomorrow? we can get breakfast.

Skeppy beams. Once again, the smile is impossible to tamp down as he negotiates the time with Bad and munches on pizza. Maybe it should be a warning sign, how terribly excited he is to see his friend, maybe it should occur to him that his cheeks are utterly flushed, and his eyes are bright and brimming with joy. But it doesn’t. He finishes his pizza. 

_ Bad’s car is nicer than he thought it would be. _

That’s really all Skeppy can process as he stumbles from the hotel to meet his friend.He could barely sleep the night before, haunted by images of auburn hair and curved smiles. It’s torturous. He can just barely make out Bad’s face through the tinted windshield of the red truck and his entire being is screaming for  _ more.  _

_ It’s not enough. _

He tries to compose himself, pulling open the car door. He doesn’t want to seem clingy, though that’s probably a lost cause at this point. 

“Hey,” Bad says. 

“Hey.” 

Oh no. It’s awkward, it’s extremely awkward. 

Skeppy glances out of the corner of his eye at Bad, the man’s jaw is tight, not that he’s...looking at his jaw. Why is he upset...is he upset? Skeppy doesn’t know and he hates it. He hates not being able to read his friend who’s usually ano open book to him. 

“How did you sleep?” Bad ventures, as the car rumbles out of the hotel parking lot. Bad casts a hesitant glance at the rundown building and Skeppy gets the distinct feeling that he doesn’t like it. He prickles. Bad doesn’t really have the right to judge where he’s staying.  _ But then again, this  _ is _ completely your own fault.  _ He reminds himself. Bad is still waiting for a response, eyes trained on the road.

“Fine.” Skeppy lies. In all honesty, it had been horrendous. A whole night, tossing and turning, trying to plan what to say. A whole night, that was an entire waste since the entire thread of conversation seemed to fall apart the second he was really around Bad.  _ Bad.  _ Skeppy is still having difficulty believing that’s the man in front of him. His eyes flick away from Bad’s face every time they make contact with his cheekbones, his nose, his lips. It feels wrong to look at him. It feels invasive. 

“That’s good,” Bad hums in the back of his throat, and Skeppy latches onto it. It’s a noise he knows. A noise of genuine confirmation. He’s happy. Or at least, not upset. “How’d your...business go?” 

_ Fuck. _

He forgot about that. 

“Good.” He says, noncommittally, scrambling to change the subject. “How’d your plans go?”

“Fine.”

He wants to say something. He wants to fill this cloud of silence with words and banter and jokes like he always does, and yet it feels  _ wrong.  _ It feels wrong to joke about muffins and minecraft when Bad is here, really here, fingertips resting on the wheel, eyes trained on the road. 

So he says nothing. And Bad says nothing. And the cloud of silence suffocates them until they reach their destination. 

Bad pulls into the parking lot with practiced smoothness and turns to Skeppy. “We’re here.” Skeppy nods, because that’s all that’s expected. He pulls himself glumly out of the car, eyes roaming over the building he’s been brought to. It’s cute, actually. A local mom and pop diner, the sort he can easily imagine Bad going to. A cheery wooden sign proclaims ‘we’re open!’ And there’s a row of tables along the awning. Skeppy wonders if Bad ever brings Rat here, and sits at one of the tables. 

He can imagine it, easily. Maybe he has an egg, or one of the pre-baked muffins he can see in the display case. A smile flits across Skeppy’s lips. Maybe he holds Rat’s leash and shivers, clinging to his coffee cup when a strong breeze billows in. Maybe he wishes he could eat with someone else. Skeppy opens his mouth to...well he’s not sure. Ask Bad if he brings Rat here? Ask if he’s lonely? Ask what he likes for breakfast? Those questions seem invasive at worst and actually offensive at best. 

So he follows Bad with his mouth firmly shut. He let’s Bad say a table for two. He lets Bad lead him. He asks the waiter for coffee, and lets Bad get up to go...god knows where. He stares down at the table, chewing on his lip. For the second time, he battles the disappointment and hurt that threatens to choke him. Bad isn’t really obligated to spend time with him, really it’s kind that he’s invited Skeppy to go anywhere at all. It’s fine. He’s fine. 

Something thunks onto the table, snapping Skeppy out of his self flagellation. He looks up hesitantly. It’s a muffin. And above that, Bad is smiling, a bit bashfully. “I did promise,” he says. And there’s no mistaking his tone or expression. Hesitant, embarrassed, waiting for  _ Skeppy’s _ approval this time. Skeppy feels that dangerously wide smile creep onto his face again. 

“Took you long enough.”

Bad’s smile settles into something more comfortable, as he slides back into the booth across from Skeppy, who’s eagerly begun peeling the packaging off the wrapper. 

“Me n’ Rat come here a lot,” Bad says, as if he read Skeppy’s mind. 

“Yeah? She your date?” Skeppy freezes, fearing he’s gone too far. But Bad snorts, rolling his eyes. 

“Sure, Skeppy. She’s my date. She pays for it all too.” 

“Wow, tell me how to get Rocco to do that.” He huffs, popping a piece of the muffin into his mouth. “Oh, holy shit this is  _ good _ .”

“Ooh, can I try?” 

“No way you greedy bitch!”

“ _ Language- _ ”

“This muffin cost me $50,000 dollars!” He’s getting weird looks from the staff, but he doesn’t give a single shit. Bad,  _ Bad, _ is sitting across from him, listening to his stupid banter,  _ leaning in _ with a smile on his face. It was something about that stupid muffin, Skeppy thinks reverentially. Something that somehow reminded them that they  _ are _ friends. 

“Hey now, mister, that was entirely your idea.” Bad scolds, sitting back primly. 

“I guess I’m just a simp,” Skeppy says sourly, as the waitress comes back with his coffee. Bad nods gravely. And it’s comfortable. It’s...really comfortable. 

“Are you planning on recording any videos out here?” Bad asks, when their food is set on the table. Skeppy is increasingly aware that he ordered much more than Bad. 

“Yeah, actually. I was gonna do a travel vlog.” Bad hums thoughtfully. 

“Do you have a camera? Your bag looked...small.” Skeppy raises an eyebrow.

“Is that an innuendo?” He demands, watching Bad sputter and shake his head passionately. He grins, “no. I don’t. I was just going to use my phone.” Bad’s slowly recovering from his conniption, warily glancing at Skeppy. 

“I have two monitors. We could do a stream.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” A hesitant nod. And then a sureer smile. “I’m actually...not as busy as I thought.”

The sun is high in the sky, it’s near noon when Bad calls it quits and drives Skeppy back to his hotel. That tense, analytical look is back, and Skeppy is beginning to guess what it might mean. Bad is displeased with the situation. Not him. 

“This hotel is really… run down.” Skeppy feels a flare of indignation, no matter how hard he tries to tamp it down  _ so as not to ruin his morning with his friend.  _

“Well,” he huffs, “I don’t really have many options-”

“Stay with me. At my house,” Bad blurts out. 


	5. Chapter 5

“I-I mean, you _know_ -the spare room, just stay there-like, as long as you’re here-not that you _have_ to of course, I’m just saying that-“

”Bad,” Skeppy interrupts his friends panicked rambling. Bad's mouth snaps shut immediately, looking at Skeppy with what he assumes to be apprehension. A small note of pride blooms in his chest; that he's getting to know his friend better. "Really, it's fine. I don't wanna inconvenience you more than I already have." He smiles weakly. That's a lie. He very much wants to be involved in _whatever_ Bad is doing, all the time, every day. But thinking about _that_ stresses him out. So he just lets the half baked excuse hang in the air between them. 

"It's no trouble, really," Bad says, with a small smile. "Besides, I do want to spend time with you, at least a little. As long as you're okay with that." Skeppy bobs his head in agreement, and for a moment the two of them are just sitting there in near-comfortable silence, staring at the road. Bad breaks it first, again. "So um. Are you going to...get your things?" Skeppy raises an eyebrow.

"Right now?" Bad sputters, an embarrassed flush creeping onto his cheeks.

"Well! _Yeah?_ Do you _want_ to stay here longer?"

"No," Skeppy admits, with a tired huff as he extricates himself from the car. 

"Oh by the way-" Bad says, leaning out of the window. Skeppy's head whips around so fast, he almost pulls a muscle. He rushes to compose himself, frustrated with his lack of self-control.

"Hm?" 

"How long're you staying? For your...business." Skeppy grits his teeth. This isn't a troll. Or a joke. For like, ninety percent of those, Bad was very much in the know about who was getting pranked and who had to act shocked. No, this was just straight up lying, and it felt like the other day. It felt like it would end in hurt. He should say something.

But.

They had just found their way to this shaky peace. Maybe it wasn't the easy, familiar, banter they were both used to. But it was a million times better than their strained silence at first. And the idea of ruining this fragile truce made him want to scream. So he smiles. "Oh, just till the end of the week." Bad purses his lips.

"S'only two days, Skeppy."

"Yeah, I know." He expects Bad to push it, for him to have to come up with something he's meant to be doing. But he just smiles.

"Want me to help you get your stuff together?" Skeppy feels a cold flash of panic. His room is a _mess,_ strewn sheets and empty pizza boxes all over the floor-he doesn't want Bad to see it. 

"Don't, it's fine. It's just one bag, really-"

"No, I insist!" Stupid Bad. Stupid, selfless Bad getting out of the car with a stupid smile on his face. And then Skeppy does another dumb thing.

"Race you!" 

"Wh- _SKEPPY!_ " But he's already gone, off like a shot past the concerned receptionist, down the short hall, with Bad hot on his heels. He hurls himself into the room, bolting every lock on the door, heedless of Bad's frustrated cries. "Skeppy! Lemme in!" He whines, and Skeppy can’t help a genuine cackle as he sprints around the room, gathering his things and throwing the pizza boxes away. 

"Just a _second,"_ he drawls, hurriedly stashing his toiletries.

"SKEPPY SO HELP ME-OPEN THE DOOR YOU-YOU- _MUFFINHEAD!_ " And he does, bag in his hand, shiteating grin on his face.

"Ready to go!"

Bad is silent on the drive to his house, clearly pouting. But it's a more familiar scenario at least, the kind of jealousy he's grown accustomed to from his friend. "Are you really mad I didn't let you pack for me?"

"I wasn't gonna pack _for_ you," Bad grumbled, giving Skeppy the side eye. "Just wanted to _help._ "

"Pfft. _Okay._ " Skeppy rolled his eyes. "Simpboyhalo." 

"I hate you."

"You love me." Skeppy teased.

" _Yeahhhhh_ ," 

The drive is spent in now-comfortable silence as they retrace the streets Skeppy had taken with the Uber. He's still not quite comfortable looking at Bad, keeping his eyes on the somewhat bumpy pavement. It's not that Bad is unattractive, _far from it_ , it's just that he knows that his friend was uncomfortable with being on camera, and still part of his mind sneers that Bad doesn't want to meet up, because then Skeppy would _see_ him. That Skeppy is invading his boundaries by simply being there.

"We're here!" He's pulled from his thoughts by Bad's cheerful exclamation, smiling brightly at his savior. "Guess you already knew," Bad mumbles, voice trailing off. _He's still uncomfortable._ Skeppy notes, another thread of guilt tugs at him as he wonders if he could do more to make Bad feel comfortable. 

"Great," Skeppy says, trying to match the tone he uses on their private calls. "Let me uh...grab my bag." He tosses another smile in Bad's direction for emphasis, grabbing his bags and following the other inside.

"Hi, Lucy!" Bad squeals, as soon as they enter, crouching down to catch the bundle of white fluff that flies towards him. His attention is instantly all on her, peppering the dog's little face with kisses and cooing, as Skeppy stands there awkwardly. It seems to take Bad several moments before he realizes Skeppy is still standing there, and when he does, his face goes bright red again. _He blushes a lot_ , Skeppy thinks with a soft smile, and then immediately banishes that thought from his mind, because _no,_ he is _not_ a kid anymore. He's over It. He doesn't think about It. 

"Um, here, let me show you the room," Bad says, with a bashful smile scooping Rat up in his arms. 

_It's a nice room,_ Skeppy thinks, as he walks in. Spacious, a fan on the ceiling that looks like it would give a good breeze. There's a window and soft cream wallpaper. _I could see myself staying here._ He flops onto the bed dramatically, laughing at Bad's stricken expression. "It's comfy, come on!" He whines. Bad rolls his eyes, seeming to take it literally, and sitting next to Skeppy. He's laughing softly, and for a moment, they hold each other's gaze. Bad's hair is glowing. The light from the window casts a gentle backlight on the auburn strands, giving Bad a halo. Skeppy almost laughs out loud at that, breaking Bad's gaze.

"Sooooo," Skeppy says, stretching his hands up to the ceiling. "We filming a video, or what?" Bad's still staring at him. He seems pensive, biting his bottom lip. _He does that when he's nervous too,_ Skeppy thinks irrationally. Because he doesn't know for sure that Bad's nervous. "Bad?"

"Why are you really here?" Cold panic, that's all he feels. 

"Erm, what do you mean?" He asks, voice cracking. He's always been a horrendous actor and Bad doesn't buy it. His mouth is pressed in a thin line, and when he speaks again, it's very clear that he's not fucking around.

"Skeppy, I'm not an idiot," He scoffs. "Your story makes no sense. You showed up yesterday, I _know_ that because we were on call. No business takes _two_ days, not one that makes you fly out across the country. Plus, you're _here,_ and I was willing to look past it because I was really _happy_ to see you and I figured you would tell me _eventually_ -" He pauses, taking a deep breath. "But you're still _lying_ to me, and I want to help you, whatever's wrong-" his voice grows weak, and Skeppy realizes with no less than pure terror that he's about to cry. Because he knows Bad. He knows his voice. "Do you not... _trust_ me?"

"No! No, it's not that," Skeppy gasps, sitting up and grabbing his hands. "I-I" He's stumbling over his words, all of them rushing out at once in a desperate attempt to undo whatever damage he's caused. "It's nothing bad, I swear, I just. You know the other day, the troll, it really-it really _got_ to me, you were so _upset,_ and-"

"The troll-?" Bad murmurs, his brows knitting. "You're still stuck on that-?"

"You were so upset!" Skeppy says desperately, "I didn't _know_ what else to do, and so I just-I was tired and it was impulsive and _stupid,"_ somehow Bad seems to make something out of his desperate rambles, bless him. 

"You flew across the country...because you thought you hurt my feelings?" Skeppy's face burns with embarrassment, as he nods. "Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't've been _mad."_

"I d-didn't _know_ ," he mumbles, eyes downcast. "I was so... _scared_. You seemed upset when I saw you and then you said you were _busy_ and-"

"Oh," Bad mumbles. 

"Oh?" 

"I uh. Lied?" Skeppy raises an eyebrow. 

" _What?!"_

"Well," now it's Bad's turn to flush, eyes flicking away from Skeppy's face. "I panicked when I saw you-and it just. Came out. I didn't mean to scare you." Skeppy stares at Bad, aghast, and then at their interlocked hands. And then chuckles softly. "Skeppy..." Bad groans, "what?" Skeppy just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to Bad's hand, shaking with laughter. " _S'geppppyyyy_ ," Bad whines. _"What?"_

"We're...so stupid," He laughs, tilting his head, and pressing his chin to their hands. "Bad, I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, you muffinhead." Bad huffs, squeezing his eyes shut. " _I'm_ sorry for making it weird." 

"It's fine. I think I made it weird long before you did." Skeppy snorts. 

"That is true." Bad murmurs. And Skeppy feels the usual indignation flare, but decides to let it go. Because Bad's hands can entirely cover his own, prickling his frigid fingers with warmth. And his friend is smiling down at him with a halo of light, the corners of his eyes crinkling gently. And Skeppy feels It flare again, as he situates himself, sitting up again. And It feels warm and familiar as he leans forward and kisses him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I've been rly busy and probably won't be able to keep up the daily/every other day update schedule ;-;  
> But still gonna try to get as much done as possible !!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, but im rly not sorry

It's not a proper kiss. Just on the forehead, a gentle brush of lips against skin. But the moment he feels Bad shift against his lips, he yanks back.

The other man sits there, eyes slightly glazed over, swaying against some invisible force.

What he's done...what he's _done,_ creed up on him. He’s crossed a line. An invisible line that he hadn't realized was there, but now it was painfully, painfully, clear. He’s crossed it, and now It is impossible to ignore. It swallows his thoughts, rushing over him, _drowning him._

He has to _fix_ this, because he knows that his friendship with Bad and It cannot coexist. He’d squashed It ages ago, or so he thought. But now it’s raging back, and he has- he has to _fix_ it.

So Skeppy does what he does best, and Does Not Think About It. “So!” He chuckles, not willing to meet Bad’s eyes as he forces himself to stand. “Video? Wanna make one while I’m here?” Bad’s mouth opens slowly, and then closes with a _snap_ , he’s still got an extremely puzzled look on his face. His eyes travel back down to their hands that are still interlocked. Skeppy gives a gentle tug and his hands fall to the side, suddenly frigid without Bad’s warmth. 

”Ye-yes,” Bad stutters, blinking slowly, confused. And then he shakes his head, standing to join Skeppy. “Yeah, we should.”

Skeppy smiles thinly. “Hey, where’s the bathroom?” Bad blinks again, _painfully_ slowly.

”Down the hall,” he’s still preoccupied, still confused. But Skeppy doesn’t grace him with an explanation, considering he’s not sure himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hurries away so fast that he can hear his jeans swishing against each other. 

He hurriedly closes himself into the bathroom, breathing harshly. He sank to the carpeted floor, shuddering. _Why did he do that?_ He’s always been too impulsive for his own good, but _now?_ He’d ruined everything, all because he wasn’t fucking _thinking._ Well he’s thinking now. 

Skeppy forces his breathing to slow, leaning on the plaster sink to stand. Ok, this can still be saved, he just...kissed Bad on the forehead. That’s not weird. He doesn’t have to make it weird. People kiss their friends on the forehead. _He_ never has. But Bad doesn’t need to know that. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s not about It. It’s _not_ . He splashes some water on his face, the cool droplets stinging his already aching skin. He is _fine._ This is normal. He’s just staying with his _friend_ for a few days and he’s very much over It. Skeppy nods in the mirror confidently, trying to ignore the dark rings under his eyes. _He’s got this._

When he leaves the bathroom, Bad isn’t still in the bedroom. For a moment, Skeppy wanders the house. It’s weird. Weird is a good word for it.

Because he knows Bad, but he’s never really…put much thought into his home. Well, that’s not exactly true. Sure he’s thought about it, he’s looked at the sore room longingly, imagined staying with him. But he’d never really contemplated the way Bad lived.

It’s not really…a true picture, since Bad has roommates. But it’s _weird_ to walk around a space someone exists in, it’s something that feels intensely personal.

There’s a strange mix of immaculately clean, and horrendously dirty. The walls and floor are scrubbed to a shine, not a single speck of dust can be found on any given surface. Yet there are piles of clothes on the floor and stray monster cans that litter the floor. It smells of home, and Lysol. It feels unbearably intimate.

Bad is in the kitchen, hunched over the cutting board, and looks up when Skeppy walks in. His face splits into a guilty smile. “Sorry, I don’t know why I assumed you’d know your way around.”

”It’s fine,” Skeppy says, and it is. Because he’s glad he got to see a little more of Bad.

”I’m making lunch,” Bad hums. “Maybe after you can…meet my roommates? I can show you around?” Skeppy nods, warmth growing in his chest. It’s dangerously warm; a scorching fire that is only stoked every time Bad smiles at him.

”Sounds good.”

His resolve is crumbling very quickly, no matter how Fine Bad seems.

Bad bobs his head along, continuing to chop onions. He moves a lot, Skeppy realizes. His head, his hands, his eyes flicking to and fro. Different from the stilted, jerking movements on stream. He’s not awkward, he’s in his element, and he feels It burn him. 

It’s not that he can’t control himself so much, more that he’s not sure he wants to.

Things move along more like Skeppy thought they would. He gets introduced to Bad’s roommates, they share dinner together. Bad’s already rambling about all the places he wants to see,

and touching Skeppy’s hand.

As he chatters away with his roommates, not seeming to notice Skeppy’s frozen silence, his fingertips ghost over Skeppy’s knuckles. Sometimes they cover his slimmer hands entirely, with their prickling warmth. Bad is a touchy person, Skeppy realizes with a jealous pang, because he touches his roommates too. Scraping across their shoulders and patting their backs. So it’s totally normal. It’s a normal thing that Bad does. It shouldn’t leave trails of fire on Skeppy’s skin.

And Skeppy wonders with an uncomfortable twist in his stomach if he’s already forgotten about the…forehead kiss.

Which is a horribly selfish and stupid thing to think, since it was Skeppy who’d first wanted to forget it. He pushes it down and he tries to ignore it. 

It was Bad’s idea to stream a horror game.

Looking back on it, Skeppy definitely should have said _no_ and _you hate those,_ and _why would you stream that?_ But instead he smiled meekly, full of warmth and drunk on the acceptance into Bad’s life.

They argued over facecam in a weird reversal of their usual roles, Skeppy pointing out he looked horrible, and didn’t want to be on camera. And _maybe_ he guilt tripped Bad a little about how many times he’d agreed to keep the camera off for Bad. But only a little.

Bad starts the stream, and Skeppy’s right by his shoulder, booting up the second monitor and joining the game. The chat doesn’t find it weird that the two of them are streaming together, probably understandably assuming their on call.

Skeppy takes his cues from Bad; he doesn’t bring it up.

Their characters stumble around the poorly lit map, occasionally getting assaulted by strange, pale creatures in a lame attempt to jumpscare them, usually while Skeppy is reading a dono.

Still, Skeppy is having…fun. He’s really having fun. The clock ticks later and later but he’s doing what he loves; bantering on stream with Bad.

”Skeppyyyy!” Bad shrieks as his character is killed again by the monster. “Helpppp,”

”What do you want me to _do,”_ Skeppy groans fondly. “I’m on the other side of the map!”

”You muffinhead!” Bad whines, “you were supposed to be protecting me!” He inhales quickly, a sharp, hicuppy breath, as his character is killed yet again.

”We aren’t meant to be together,” Skeppy says sadly as his character is thrown at a wall. “The universe is keeping us apart.”

”You-you,” Bad sputters, unable to come up with a comeback, then properly _jumping_ in his seat when his screen flashes red with the death animation. Skeppy spares a glance from his own screen at his friend who is hunched over his keyboard, shaking a bit.

”Bad…?” He mutes his mic. “You okay?”

”Pfft,” Bad huffs. “Fine! I’m fine.” But his hands are shaking a bit.

”Wanna stop?”

”No…” Bad motions vaguely. “Th-stream.”

”Screw the stream,” Skeppy grumbles, scooting his chair over. Bad’s hand is still shaking, and he covers it with his own, giving it a little squeeze. Bad seems to take that as permission, lunging forward, and pulling Skeppy into a tight hug.

His brain short circuits for a moment, only able to focus on the feeling of Bad holding him. Confused donos fly through the chat and Skeppy realizes dimly that Bad didn’t mute his mic. That the stream heard everything he said-not that anything was horribly wrong or controversial, just very…real. There was no way they could have missed the genuine affection in his voice. He’s dizzy with the feeling of Bad’s hand resting on his shoulder before the other man pulls back and he realizes this is probably a Bit.

”You saved me,” Bad giggles, and his face is so close that his breath ruffles Skeppy’s hair. He’s still frozen, staring, as Bad presses a kiss to Skeppy’s forehead.

Okay!

So this is just a platonic thing they do now.

He offers Bad a small smile, before he returns to the game.

* * *

**Rat Man** @littlestinker3324

DID BAD JUST KISS SKEPPY ON STREAM.

 **400** Retweets **322** Quote Tweets **16k** Likes

> **Fandoms Are My Home** @wanderlust56377  
>  Replying to @littletinker3324
> 
> I DONT KNOW IT FUCKIN SOUNDED LIKE IT
> 
> **2** Retweets **0** Quote Tweets **20** Likes


	7. Chapter 7

**Rat Man** @littlestinker3324

DID BAD JUST KISS SKEPPY ON STREAM.

 **554** Retweets **400** Quote Tweets **24k** Likes

> **BadBoyHalo** @BadBoyHalo  
> Replying to @littletinker3324
> 
> He’s in California O.o
> 
> **1.3k** Retweets **62** Quote Tweets **120k** Likes
> 
> **overnightoutlook** @littleitres
> 
> Replying to @littlestinker3324 and @BadBoyHalo
> 
> YOOOO WHY’d HE FEEL THE NEED TO ADDRESS IT 
> 
> SUS
> 
> **32** Retweets **13** Quote Tweets **344** Likes

* * *

Skeppy is getting used to this. Painfully, _dangerously_ used to this, this being a part of Bad’s life.

And it’s only been three days. They don’t talk about when Skeppy will leave. Sometimes he thinks Bad might want him to, but that fear only lasts until he walks into the kitchen, and Bad greets him with a glowing smile and an embrace. It feels like sunshine. It feels like coming home. 

He becomes accustomed to it, waking up in the room that was promised to him, the room that is not his own. He likes walking into the kitchen and hugging his friend ‘good morning.’ He likes taking Rat on walks with Bad, and talking about new videos and dumb stories.

”You-no, why are you putting the noodles in _first!”_ Bad gasps, horrified, when Skeppy tries to make dinner.

”What are you talking about?” Skeppy says, wide eyed. “This is how I always make ‘em.” Bad just stares, and shakes his head.

”Your noodles are gonna be crispy,” he says mournfully, as if Skeppy had committed a cardinal sin.

”You’re so wrong,” Skeppy snorts.

”Nah uh,” Bad retorts.

”We should let Twitter decide,” Skeppy smirks, and Bad immediately shakes his head.

”Naw, my house, my rules.”

”Why didn’t you _tell_ me,” Skeppy groans, “ _before_ I used up all the noodles?!”

” _You used up all the noodles?!”_ Bad cries, and he sounds just as horrified as he might have been if Skeppy griefed his server.

”I’m _sorrrryyyyy_ ,” Skeppy grovels. 

He likes going to the supermarket with Bad to get more noodles. He likes the way Bad holds his hand to keep Skeppy from getting lost, even if there’s a surge of jealousy when he sees Bad do the same with his roommates.

He goes to the beach with Bad on the second day, and it’s almost dreamlike, to be somewhere doing something normal with his friend.

”It’s the only thing we can really do, when it’s this miserable out,” Bad says, shrugging. So Skeppy agrees, and he Does Not look at Bad’s bare chest when he leaves in his swim trunks. He Does Not Blush when Bad asks him to put sunscreen on his back. “I burn really easily,” he says, with a bashful smile, the familiar red dusting his cheeks. Bad’s skin is way smoother than it has any right to be. Warmer, too. Bad shrieks at how cold Skeppy’s hands are, which leads somehow to Skeppy shoving sand into his hair.

”We should get a selfie,” Skeppy says, chest aching from laughter.

”Just enjoy the moment, you muffinhead,” Bad says teasingly, but he physically pushes the phone away. Skeppy chalks it up to being nervous in front of the camera. It’s fine, he’ll get a selfie eventually. 

He’s fine with this, spending time with his friend, and it’s almost enough to ignore It.

Until they get home, and he doesn’t remember why, he can’t for the _life_ of him remember why, he walks into Bad’s room without asking, and his friend is standing there in a towel.

It’s not like Skeppy had just spent the day with him shirtless, but it feels different. Maybe it’s because the towel dips a bit lower.

So he stands there for a solid thirty seconds, gaping like a fish until Bad turns around and politely asks him to leave. His friend’s face is a brighter red than he’d ever seen it.

He can ignore It, because there’s so much else to think about. 

He likes watching Bad speak, watching his hands move, feeling the thrill of pride when he deciphers a new movement. He likes that he’s knowing his friend better. He adores Bad’s cooking, And Bad cooks a lot. He likes to cook for _Skeppy_ specifically, because according to Bad’s roommates, he never cooks this much.

He’d be elated, perfectly content, unwilling to change a thing, except Bad won’t _tell_ anyone they’ve met up. He tries to ignore it, he does.

Until it’s all he can see on Twitter.

“So do you wanna address it?” Skeppy asks, scrolling through his timeline. Bad, who’s occupied with something that’s clearly _very important,_ hums noncommittally. Skeppy frowns at his dismissive tone. “Oh would ya look at that, ‘skephalo’ is trending.”

” _What?”_ That makes Bad look up, wearing the same mask of fear from the horror game. “Lemme see,”

”I’m just messing with you,” Skeppy snorts, and ignores Bad’s withering glare. He’s getting better at these faces. This one isn’t a real glare. Or anyway, not on that will last. “I dunno why we can’t just say something.” Skeppy continues.

”Because,” Bad says simply. “Because,” he elaborates when he sees Skeppy isn’t backing down, “because I don’t see why it’s any of their business.”

”Yeah but it’s our first meet up. Shouldn’t we be doing like…a video? Or a picture at _least_ …” his voice trails off, Bad’s face is pinched, his shoulders hunched. Eerily similar body language to the driest dat, and Skeppy knows he pushed too far. But because he’s who he is, he keeps pushing. “It’s like…special, right? Our first time meeting up in person.”

”Well maybe I didn’t _want_ our first time meeting up to be like this!” Bad says suddenly, his face reddening, the words tumbling out. “Maybe I don’t want it immortalized on the internet forever! But I didn’t exactly get much say in the matter, _did I?_ ” Skeppy is taken aback, staring at his friend who appears equal parts angry, and on the verge of tears.

”Bad…”

” _Don’t._ Just. I’m sorry for snapping. Just drop it. Please.” Skeppy’s mouth closes so fast his teeth click.

And he’s fucked it up. He’s fucked it up, he’s ruined it. Bad’s back to the discomfort of the first day because Skeppy couldn’t stop pushing.

Bad doesn’t cook dinner that night. He sits on the couch with takeout in stony silence. 

It’s not that he’s _ignoring_ Skeppy, he acknowledges him when he enters the room, but there’s a certain distance that he had not missed.

Skeppy starts packing his things.

He’s waiting for Bad to kick him out as the night drags on, it would be completely understandable give the circumstances. He feels tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, and tries to ignore them. It seems, unfortunately, that he’s getting quite bad at ignoring things.

He makes up his mind to apologize, and then promise to leave. It’s really all he can think to do as he drags his bag behind him.

The living room is dark, even for the late evening. He can barely see and trips over…something. He crashes to the ground with a soft _oof._ As his eyes adjust, he grapples for the thing that tripped him, hands meeting cold glass. A fucking beer bottle.

”What the fuck,” he murmurs, and there’s a shifting noise behind him. “Bad?” His friend’s face appears around the corner, glasses slightly askew and face redder than he’s yet to see. The glassy look in his eyes is unfamiliar, now that he’s gotten so used to mapping Bad’s face.

“Bad, are you drunk?” He says, voice a bit pitched, unable to quite believe it himself. In his mind, Bad and ‘being drunk’ exist as very _separate_ ideas. Bad scoots back behind the corner. “Bad, come on,” Skeppy says exasperatedly. Bad shuffles out, staring at his shoes.

”I’m bein’ a bad host aren’t I?” Bad mumbles, tugging at the hem of his sleeve.

”No…no, you’ve been great, really wonderful,” Skeppy hurriedly assured him.

”Than why d’you have your bags,” Bad says, pointing accusingly behind Skeppy.

”Um…”

”Y-You’re leavin’ aren’t you? ‘Cause I yelled at you.” Too his horror, Bad’s eyes are filling with tears. 

”You didn’t _yell_ at me,” Skeppy protests weakly. “I was kind of being an idiot. I deserved it.”

”Nawww,” Bad sniffles, rubbing at his already reddened nose.”You we’re just tryin’ to be a-a good friend, and I-” the first tear has made its way down Bad’s cheek, and Skeppy is in full damage control mode.

”No, no, c’mere,” he crosses the distance between them in three steps and wraps Bad in his arms. “It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have pushed your boundaries. This whole situation is…weird. It’s weird, okay? And-and you’ve been more than gracious.” Bad sniffles and nods. “I just don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

”But I don’t…you shouldn’t have to apologize for my weird…stuff…” Bad mumbles, resting his head against Skeppy’s shoulder. For a moment Skeppy is frozen, feeling Bad’s breath ghosting against his collarbone, warm and shuddering. Bad sniffles, body shaking with a proper sob.

“No, no, Bad,” Skeppy begs, “please don’t cry…”

”I don’t want people to…to speculate,” Bad weeps, clinging to Skeppy, hands fisting in his shirt. “Don’ want everyone to pity me, everyone’s gonna make fun of me,”

”No one’s gonna make fun of you,” Skeppy reassures, faintly confused. “Why would they…make fun of you, Bad?”

”Coz’ why you’re here,” he mumbles. “Everyone thinks I’m…so fuckin’-I’m so embarrassed, I _cried.”_

“Okay, okay? Bad, it’s okay to…cry,” Skeppy says, rubbing his back, still unsure what Bad’s talking about. His friend burrows into the crook of his neck with another wail, and Skeppy returns to his earlier line of reassurance. “No ones making fun of you, Bad. I won’t let them.” Bad sniffles.

”Promise?”

”I promise, Bad.” Bad’s still crying, no longer sobbing, and clinging to Skeppy.

“Love you,” his voice sounds, muffled by Skeppy’s shirt.

”Aw, I love you too,” Skeppy says softly.

”No,” Bad shakes his head. “You don’t-you’re so-I _love_ you,” 

“I-I know…?” Bad pulls away, looking at him critically, his eyes still watery.

”You’re so…dumb.” He mumbles, and suddenly his lips are on Skeppy’s. Bad’s lips taste of monster and alcohol, clumsy and frantic, teeth clacking against Skeppy’s. He’s warm, he’s so _warm_ _._ Skeppy holds him, desperately, to get closer, _closer._ Closer until he can’t think anymore, until all he feels is love.

His brain takes a moment to catch up, before he realizes he _shouldn’t_ be kissing back.

Bad is drunk, Bad doesn’t know what he’s doing. _Bad is pushing him against a wall, and he’s-he’s-_

Skeppy pushes him away, terrified. Bad looks slightly dazed, lips parted. “Wha’s wrong?” He slurs.

”Um-you’re…you’re really drunk right now,” Skeppy says, trying to still his thundering heart. “Um. I,” he’s just wide eyed. He’s just staring. His chest is burning. 

“Did you not-w-want me to-?”

”No! No, I just…Bad, you’re drunk. It’s late. Why don’t you lie down.” Bad sniffs again, and nods.

”Stat with me-?” 

“…Okay.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little shorter, but I hope you find it a satisfying conclusion <3

Skeppy wakes up laying on the couch, something crushing his chest, and warm breath ghosting against his collarbone. It takes a moment before the memories of the night before come flooding back; helping Bad sit down, his friend's sniffles finally calming, laying him down on the couch and sitting next to him. Sitting next to him, until he too dozed off. And, _oh,_ Bad is still there, smushed against his chest, his auburn hair perfectly mussed in the auburn light. It, _It,_ is impossible to ignore. It, the infatuation he'd had with Bad since he first watched the man's videos. Is it reciprocated? He studies Bad's sleeping face, as the man begins to wake. 

Bad's eyes flutter open, meeting Skeppy's as he smiles softly, though the smile quickly morphs into surprise as he scrambles back from Skeppy, who's distraught at the sudden lack of warmth. "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness," Bad whispers, dragging a hand through his hair with a wince. Skeppy sits up as well, very conscious that he's probably got morning breath and his shirt is horribly wrinkled.

"You okay?" Skeppy asks.

" _No,_ why are we lying on the couch and _why_ do I have a hangover," Poor Bad looks so anxious, and Skeppy's chest pangs sympathetically, reaching for his friend's hand. 

"Hey, it's okay," he says gently, squeezing his hand. "Nothing happened. You were upset, so I just...helped you calm down."

"Oh my goodness," Bad repeats, slumping forward. "Skeppy, I'm sorry," 

"No, no, no, it's fine, really it's fine," _better than fine._ "We just talked, I like talking to you," he added helpfully.

"About what?" Bad's voice trembles and he hunches, like a frightened animal. 

"Oh, stuff." Skeppy lifts a shoulder noncommittally. "You, uh. Said something about being embarrassed, I couldn't really make it out. You were really upset though." Bad's face colors as he runs a hand through his hair again nervously. 

"Right," he laughs shortly. "Right, that."

"What about that?" Skeppy prompts gently. 

"Well I just...you know I already have a reputation for being the... _emotional_ one. I guess I just thought that um..." He looks up at Skeppy, who makes what he hopes to be an encouraging face. "if people _knew_ why you visited me, they might...you know. Pity me. More than they already do. And that was embarrassing, and I acted...irrationally."

"Oh, well if that's all-"

" _Skeppy._ "

"Well I'm just _saying_ we don't have to tell people shit," Skeppy huffs. "We don't have to tell 'em why I'm here." Bad rolls his eyes, smiling a little. The smallest of smiles. 

"I know that Skeppy."

"So we can just...take a selfie."

"I know Skeppy." 

"Sooooo,"

" _Skeppy_." He backs off, smiling, taking in his friend's presence. God, he loves his friend. And he doesn't try to suppress the warmth prickling his chest. 

"Also you kissed me."

" _WHAT?"_

It wasn't as awkward as Skeppy thought it would be. As it turns out, it's easy for one to laugh off a drunken kiss. But something has shifted, something feels different. Maybe it's because Skeppy isn't trying to ignore It. He lets himself feel, fully and completely. When Bad's hand brushes his, he smiles, unashamed, delighting in the redness of Bad's face. There's no misunderstanding s between them now, he realizes with a surge of contentment. He's crossed the gap. He's not sure how, but he's done it.

He does have to leave eventually though, there's an annoyed string of texts from his roommate demanding he get back because they're sick of having to care for Rocco. 

Bad drives him to the airport, their hands comfortably nestled together. He goes through security with Skeppy, insisting on carrying the single bag Skeppy brought with him, and helping him navigate to his gate. 

"It's only been five days," Skeppy says softly, and Bad shakes it off. He knows _why_ Bad isn't leaving him, and he doesn't question it. He knows Bad better, knows his face now. Bad is anxious, he's going to miss Skeppy. So they sit in a comfortable silence, hand in hand.

The announcement for his flight booms through the airport, clear and robotic.

"Right, that's me," Skeppy says stiffly, pushing himself to his feet, his hand falling from Bad's. He immediately misses the warmth, smiling sadly at his friend. "See you later?"

"Yeah," Bad says, his voice, his wonderful voice that Skeppy knows better than anyone's, is rough and on the verge of tears. "See you later."

Skeppy stands and makes his way to the gate, already thinking ahead. He'd filmed the video with Bad, but he needs to edit the vlog footage. He _is_ excited to see Rocco, and he wants to clean up his Twitter feed, and-" _Skeppy!"_

His head whips around, the figure, the now-familiar figure of Bad hurtling towards him, grabbing Skeppy's shoulders and crushing their lips together. It's a short kiss, quite chaste all things considered, but when Bad pulls back, Skeppy knows his mouth is hanging open. "Sorry," Bad gasps. "I know I'd hate myself if I didn't." 

"Okay," Skeppy says numbly. 

"I'm sorry, I know it's a weird way to end and I understand that-"

"It's not an end," Skeppy says, forcing his sluggish mind to work. "It's a beginning."

\--

"BaAAaAaad," Skeppy wails into the mic, watching his Minecraft figure flail around onscreen. "I swear, they're hacking!" Quackity's snickers filter over the stream, as well as Bad's exasperated sighs. 

"God, Bad, control your man," Quackity smirks. 

"I'm _trying,"_ his boyfriend hums exasperatedly. 

"I'm bein' serious," Skeppy whines. 

"Not falling for it," Bad says smugly. 

"Asshole."

" _Language."_


End file.
